Precious
by B.W.T
Summary: Fire and magic were made for such arguments as this.


**This was something of a plot bunny that came upon me. More may come of it, but for now it stands well enough on its own. Enjoy!**

"I _ran_ from you!" She snarled as they circled each other, the adrenaline from their chase running through her veins. Oh, how she had run – years of running…

He stalked forward, suddenly, blonde hair wild about his head. "Not fast enough. You are _mine._" He caught her arm, the fabric of her shirt worn from use. "You don't belong here. Come, precious, why do you defy me so – when I offer everything?"

She tore free of him, dancing back. "You offer nothing! You never have, and I will not be a toy to your – your twisted desire!" She glared at him, green eyes flashing.

"Won't you though?" He cooed, smirking at her as a crystal ball appeared in his hands – he moved forward again, tossing it carelessly, too gracefully, from hand to hand, his gloved fingers caressing the smooth surface. "Tell me, _precious_, what is there here to tempt you? Here, in this world; with its dying greenery, its poisoned skies? Its utterly," He paused, making a show of darting his tongue out and licking his lips, "_tasteless_ air. You cannot truly tell me you don't desire the taste of magic…"

Again, quick as a snake, he was upon her, the crystal gone; his hands catching her wrists and holding her to him. "Can't you feel it, precious? Rolling off me – magic… you can have it, if you come with me." She struggled against him, thrashing, ignoring the feel of it against her skin – the warmth of the magic as it reached out for her.

"Get off me!" She tried to push him back, but he seemed content to pull her closer, caging her within his arms, his hair tickling her skin as he leaned close to whisper in her ear. "My precious, why do you run? I can feel your desire; I can see your _dreams_." He hissed the last word, his breath raising goose-bumps over her skin. He moved, trapping her with one arm, so she was pressed full against his side. He chuckled, showing her the crystal from before, held casually in his free hand.

Figures moved within it, dancing and kissing, among other – more carnal – actions. She turned her eyes from it. "You force them in my head, you _monster._" Again, she struggled against him, but despite the strength born from a life running, he was stronger, keeping her trapped against him.

"Do I?" He breathed, slipping the crystal away and tracing the column of her throat with his gloved hand. "I assure you not, precious, those are entirely of your own making…" He laughed, shifting her kicking form so she was in front of him. "Give _in._" He ordered, "Give in and I will give you everything you desire. You will be a Queen, my only. You can cease this infernal running and turn your energies to more… interesting methods of exercise." He laughed again at her indignant shriek, before suddenly clapping a hand over her mouth, shaking her slightly to make her still.

They stood just under a small bridge, and above them he heard voices; mortals, seeking the source of his lovely Sarah's cries.

In his arms she was silent as the moon, though her eyes seethed with a hunted anger. He grinned wickedly at her, knowing she would make not a sound; for all her talk, she could not stand mortals any better than he…

"Is someone there?" One asked above them; the voice was young, male, showing only the edge of excitement. Jareth pulled Sarah closer, raising a brow at her silent attempt to struggle against him.

He knew full well that under her worn t-shirt she bore the marks of mortal distaste for the strange. He had seen them, after freeing her from the asylum they thought prudent to send his Queen to. Why she saw fit to run from him afterwards was anyone's guess, really.

"Maybe they're down there." Came a second voice; female, also young, worried. He drew Sarah further into the shadow cast by the bridge, his boots sinking slightly into the sandy dirt. She'd stopped struggling, stiff with fear now.

He frowned. He disliked her fear. She was never afraid of him, of course. Always fiery, always fighting, but mortals – she shook at the sight of them.

Her struggles became attempts to get closer to him, her fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt, her face hidden against his chest. He would have enjoyed the sensation, if not for the voices now coming closer, as they began their way down to see under the bridge.

"Let me take you away." He whispered in her ear, and got a shaky nod in return. No hesitation, not a moment of resistance. Oh, how he wished he could tear the mortal world apart, for what they had done to his beauty…

In a moment, they were gone, the faintest scent of exotic flowers and the glint of sparkles on the ground the only sign they had been there.

**Well, there you have it. Thoughts?**


End file.
